


From Which We Came

by ohmyflavors (hannibae)



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Polyamory, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibae/pseuds/ohmyflavors
Summary: “I’m bringing back the mid-riff. You like it?” It’s a challenge, and Link doesn’t bite. Instead, he shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. “I wasn’t wearing it for you, anyway.”“Who were you wearing it for? Certainly not Jessie,” Link laughs.“Maybe I was wearing if for your wife.” It’s a familiar joke, and Link just shakes his head at him, joining in on the soft laughter Rhett lets out. “She called me the other night, you know?”





	From Which We Came

The sticky juice from the orange on the rim of his mimosa has somehow made its way onto his fingers. Pulling a face, he sucks the tips of two into his mouth to work at getting them clean.  It’s a nice day outside, bright and sunny, and they’d opted to sit on the patio as soon as they realized they had the option.

Link squints over at Rhett, realizing he’s still talking. He only catches the residuals of the one-sided conversation: “All I’m saying is it’s a possibility.”

“Right,” Link blindly agrees, wiping his now damp fingers on the napkin on the table.

A balled-up receipt hits his chest, and he catches Rhett’s eye again. “You weren’t even listening,” he accuses.

Link grins. “Nah. I’m sure whatever you were saying was very important, though.”

He gets a snort in response, and Rhett leans back in his chair a little to stretch. “That shirt’s gettin’ a little short for you, brother,” Link teases, when he catches just a glimpse of Rhett’s stomach.

“I’m bringing back the mid-riff. You like it?” It’s a challenge, and Link doesn’t bite. Instead, he shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. “I wasn’t wearing it for you, anyway.”

“Who were you wearing it for? Certainly not Jessie,” Link laughs.

“Maybe I was wearing if for your wife.” It’s a familiar joke, and Link just shakes his head at him, joining in on the soft laughter Rhett lets out. “She called me the other night, you know?”

That definitely catches Link’s attention, and his eyebrows perk up. “Oh? You two have one of your girls’ nights again?”

Link recalls a night, way back in the past, right after Lilly was born, when he woke up to Rhett in the house, holding a peacefully cooing, wiggling infant and chatting quietly with Christy while Link rested. It was the first of many times throughout the rest of their lives. Still to this day, if he sleeps in, sometimes Rhett will be in the kitchen, digging through the fridge for leftovers from the night before, Christy still in her pajamas and nursing a cup of coffee. Perhaps Link should be bothered, but he can’t find it in him to even care.

Rhett takes a pointed sip of his drink. When he swallows with an exaggerated sound, he says, “She wanted to run some plans by me for your birthday.”

“Y’all better not do something crazy,” Link says, pointing a finger at him. The last thing he needs is Rhett and Christy teaming up together to throw a party for him. Last time that happened, he ended up losing one of his favorite shirts, getting covered in cake, and being carried out of Rhett’s house by the girls. It was a good night, but he’d had to shave his chest the next day because fondant hardens to an impossible point, and he’d apparently lost fifty dollars in a bet.

Rhett doesn’t answer him, just shrugs his shoulder in a loud laugh. “Hey, man, look—you better talk to your wife about that. I’m an innocent bystander.”

“The last thing _you_ are is innocent,” Link says, raising an eyebrow. He finishes his mimosa in a last mouthful, and when Rhett gestures to ask if he wants another round, he shakes his head. “Still got half a work day ahead of us, remember?”

Rhett nods in agreement and leans back to recline in the uncomfortable metal chair. He looks good, Link thinks, aesthetically.  Rhett’s a good-looking guy. He always has been, for as long as Link can remember looking at people like that. His legs are long and lean from years of being active, and his eyes are big and soulful. He takes good care of himself, and it shows. With this backdrop, a city of buildings and a seemingly always bright, clear sky, he looks even better.

He’s a spool of golden thread unwound and unkempt, framed by smog and environmentalism.

They finish up, and Rhett pays the check generously, saying, “It’s my turn this time.”

As they’re walking to the car, Link remembers finally to ask, “What did she say she has planned, anyway?”

“Christy?” Rhett asks unnecessarily. “Oh, you know her. She’ll probably just plan a get together with some people. You could always ask her about it if you’re worried.”

He slides into the passenger seat, pulling down the visor to check on his reflection, make sure it’s looking okay. He says, “That’ll spoil that you told me something you shouldn’t have.” Because he knows his wife, knows that she’d told Rhett, ‘ _Now don’t you go telling Link any of this._ ’ He knows she probably made him pinky promise not to. He also knows Rhett knew the instant she said anything that he was going to tell Link _something_.

It’s been the same game for years.

But this time, Rhett shrugs his shoulders, tells him, “She didn’t tell me not to say anything. We just talked; we didn’t make anything official.”

It’s probably better that way, Link reasons, because he hasn’t even mentioned anything to her. Usually, he’ll throw something out there, set the seed for the ideas to sprout, and Christy will embellish on it. This year, it seems, she wanted to get a head start.

“I’m just trying to figure out why she needed to talk to you,” Link tells him. “Ain’t like I told you anything I haven’t told her.”

“Why don’t you try talking to her, buddyroll?” Rhett nearly runs a red light, and Link feels his grip on the armrest tighten.

“Am I distracting you? Pay attention to the road, man. You’re driving like me,” Link fusses, pulling the visor down again. His sunglasses clash a little bit with his shirt, but he tries not to let it grate on him for now.

Rhett laughs, leaning forward in his seat to look out the window so he can merge. “Now you see how I feel.” And then, after he merges into the lane and comes to a steady speed, he shoots a glance Link’s way. “Seriously, though. Talk to her tonight. Tell her I said something to you.”

“You’re confusing me, now.”

“Good,” Rhett laughs.

__

“Feel like telling me why my wife pulled out a strap-on from our closet last night?”

He expected Rhett to react, expected some sort of comment, but instead, he just keeps clicking through emails. He says, “Did you talk to her?” He doesn’t even laugh, which was Link’s first reaction to the whole situation. And then he’d done damage control, listened to his red-faced wife delicately tell him she thought they could try something different.

“Of course I talked to her. And then she pulled out this harness and a—“ His words fall short, so he uses hand gestures to paint the rest of the picture for Rhett. “Why were you talking to my wife about strap-ons?”

He’d put the pieces of the puzzle together fairly quickly, especially once Christy had put it back in the closet and said, “Did you talk to Rhett?” She meant it the same way Rhett had, as though they were both arguing over who was going to have this conversation with Link. As though putting something up Link’s butt was a conversation they both needed to have with him.

And now Link’s confused.

“She’s not telling me what’s going on, and neither are you. You both just keep asking me if I’m talking to the other, and it’s really frustrating me,” Link says. The truth is, Christy had said something about it not being her place to talk about anything other than why she’d personally bought it for them. It left Link feeling a little weird, if he’s honest with himself.

He doesn’t really want to have this conversation with Rhett.

But, “She asked me about it,” Rhett says. He finally looks up from his computer, looks at Link like he’s expecting a fight.

“Why would Christy go to _you_ about sex toys?” The idea is silly. Christy doesn’t even talk about stuff like that with Link, much less contact Rhett for it exclusively. They just. This isn’t who they are as a couple, he didn’t think.

Rhett shrugs his shoulders again, and it grates on Link. “I’m knowledgeable.”

“So am _I_ ,” Link insists. And he is. He knows about all sorts of sex toys. Or he could at least do some research about them, talk to his own wife about their sex life instead of finding out via cryptic conversations that she’s been talking to his best friend instead.

“I’m knowledgeable about this particular sex toy, maybe,” is what Rhett says, and his cheeks are just a little pink.

If Link brought it up, Rhett would just brush him off, would say something about how his cheeks are always pink or tell him he must have been seeing stuff. So, he puts the puzzle pieces together in his mind and asks, “How would my wife know about what you know about strap-ons?”

“I think she’s been talking to my wife. Jessie didn’t tell me much,” Rhett explains, nonchalant, like this isn’t the conversation they’re having right now.

“Rhett—“

“Look, let’s not do this here, okay? We’re at work.” Link opens his mouth to say something, a rebuttal, but Rhett’s quick to tell him, “I’m serious. Let’s do dinner, and we’ll talk.”

When Link tries to say something again, Rhett turns to face his computer again, and that’s the end of it all.

\--

“What’re you getting?”

There’s a glass of wine in front of both of them, and Link’s phone buzzes with a text from Christy. The waiter is standing a couple of tables over. There’s an old man and his wife celebrating fifty years of marriage. And Link can’t stop the flow of, “So, strap-ons, huh?” when it settles onto his tongue.

Rhett doesn’t skip a beat, but Link catches a glimpse of a slightly horrified look on the older gentleman’s face and decides to shove his phone back in his pocket when it buzzes again.

There’s a shoulder shrug, and Rhett looks up from the menu finally. “Yeah.”

“It’s not…weird? Having something up there?” He doesn’t know how to be delicate with this conversation. And maybe they shouldn’t be having it in public.

But still, Rhett says, “Not if you do it right.”

“And you’re _knowledgeable_.”

“It’s the same as if you did it to her,” Rhett says with a shrug. Link blanches, takes a sip of his wine, clears his throat after he swallows. Rhett’s voice lowers respectfully, but there’s a grin that’s shocked and scandalized all at once. “You’ve never--?”

“Naw, man. Come on, it’s--. We’ve always been good at what we’ve always done. There was no reason to try doing that,” Link stutters. His face is on fire, and he can feel himself start to sweat a little. He’s never been good at talking about this stuff with anyone.

“Clearly, she disagrees.”

“Except she wants to be the one putting something up _my_ butt,” Link argues. “Did you give her the impression I wanted this or something?”

Rhett very pointedly takes a sip of wine. And then he says, “No. But Jessie might have told her it was fun.”

“Do you think it’s fun?”

“You really think we’d be having this conversation if I didn’t?” Rhett asks, raising an eyebrow.

The waiter, a young man with tattoos riding up both his arms, a fake smile plastered on his face and sweat beading up at his temples, interrupts their conversation for long enough to put plates down in front of them. He asks twice if they need anything else, and Link feels the annoyance creep up his neck. With just as fake of a smile, he tells him they’re fine, and Rhett snorts when he’s walking away.

When Link cuts him eyes, Rhett says, “Don’t take it out on the waiter, man, he’ll spit in your drink.”

Link scoffs. And then, “You really like having something up there?”

Rhett laughs, tosses his head back and _laughs_. Link wants to be annoyed, but mostly he feels like he’s missing out on some joke. He wasn’t trying to be funny; it was a genuine question. It takes Rhett a few seconds to calm down, but once he does, he goes straight for his food instead of answering Link’s question. There’s a smirk still on his lips, and Link gives him a bit to get his thoughts in order.

After a while, and a couple of bites between the two of them, Rhett finally decides, “Alright. For one thing, we don’t do it often. But yes, it’s fun, and I like having something _up there_.”

Link lets the words permeate around them, lets Rhett clear his throat and take a few more bites of food, a couple more hearty sips of wine. It’s an odd thing, to be talking about this so candidly with Rhett. They haven’t really talked like this since college, when it was all about who was better, who was bigger, who was wilder. But now it doesn’t matter, and there’s a certain level of respect they both have for not only their own wives, but the other’s wife, too. So, beyond a grin and a raised eyebrow when the question of ‘have a good night, man?’ comes up, neither of them spill any explicit details anymore.

And something like this, where—where it’s _him_ that they’re talking about, it’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. Rhett’s already confirmed a lot, exposed a lot, given Link a mental image that he doesn’t exactly hate but won’t admit that readily. If Rhett can do that, then Link can ask, “What’s it feel like?”

He seems to be prepared for the question, as he just sort of straightens up a little bit in his chair, places his fork down carefully to make an uncomfortable amount of eye-contact before deadpanning, “Like having something up your butt, man.”

“I mean, does it feel good?”

“I already said it did.” And he stabs at another bite of steak. Chewing carefully, he decides, “You’d like it, probably.”

Link pulls a face, wondering how Rhett could make an assumption like that, what knowledge he’s basing it off of.

He gets an answer of, “Remember that one time in college you told me Sarah John put her finger—?“ and he makes a whistling noise rudely.

That memory had faded over the years, getting lost in a sea of other, better memories. So no, he hadn’t remembered that, but now that he is remembering it, his stomach twists up prettily. She’d had nice fingers, and just one of them pressing inside of him while she was sucking him off, a little bit wet and a little bit of a stretch. He’d come harder than he ever had at the time.

Link nods. He avoids eye-contact.

“I mean, that’s how it started with me and Jess.”

And that’s. He really doesn’t think they should be having this conversation in public. The old man at the table over is starting to grumble to his wife, and Link has half a mind to snap something about minding his own business. He refrains, though, because he’d be the old man if he weren’t the one having this conversation in the middle of a busy restaurant.

“Come on, man. Don’t talk to me about your wife’s fingers in your ass while I’m trying to eat,” he jokes, defusing the tension just a little bit, he thinks. “I’ll talk to Christy,” he decides.

Rhett allows the conversation to fall there with a shrug and a look, and Link is grateful for it. Instead, they talk about work like usual, mindlessly going through schedules and ideas and meetings they’ve got outlined on their calendars. Link gets lost in a comfortable, familiar flow of words and thought processes, and forgets about everything for just a second.

They finish their meal in relative peace, and Link thinks he’s in the clear as they’re walking out into the chill of the night. Rhett’s car is less of a safe haven with its privacy, and the question barely waits until they’re both buckled up before it’s tumbling out of Rhett’s mouth: “So, you gonna let her?”

“Let her,” Link snorts, shaking his head. “This ain’t supposed to be about me? It’s my ass, after all.”

Rhett shoots him an amused look. And then he takes the low route with, “It’s _her_ ass, brother, admit it.”

Link falls quiet. The quiet hum of the radio, a song Rhett put on before they pulled out of the parking lot, keeps Link’s thoughts from trailing too far. He doesn’t know, is the thing. Rhett can keep asking and asking, and he’s not going to have an answer right now.

Instead of saying that, he reiterates, “I’ll talk to Christy, and then I’ll let you know what I decide. How’s that sound?”

Rhett lets out a noise, soft and a bit like strangled laughter. After a beat, he shakes his head and tells Link, “You don’t have to let me know, man. Just talk to your wife.”

“I will.”

\--

Showers are his favorite part of the day, usually. When he isn’t stressed and he can just enjoy them, bypassing the annoying feeling in chest that he has to be orderly or he’ll miss a spot, they leave him feeling clean and clear.

Today, though, he’s got nervous energy in his hands. It has nowhere to go, and he’s too busy thinking about the ongoing conversation in his life.

Christy had pretty much told him not to worry about the toy. Or about sex in general. Which is just absolutely not what he was trying to accomplish when he’d brought it up again. He’ll admit that the way he worded it was probably poor, with his accusatory, ‘ _Why’d you go to Rhett about this before coming to me?_ ’  And she’d sort of shrunk in on herself, face growing redder and redder with her rebuttal of, ‘ _Because he’s done it before_!’

He’d asked, of course, “Are you not satisfied with—“ and she’d cut him off with a shake of her head, her arms flying up in exasperation.

And she’d just said, “You know what, Link? We’ll just. We’ll just forget this ever happened. I—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

The echo of her shy, embarrassed voice echoes around the hollow parts of his brain, and he takes a deep breath. He’s already had something in there once, right? Even though he doesn’t remember how it felt exactly, his body will know, won’t it? It’ll be like muscle memory.

He’s not hard, but the nervousness flutters around in his stomach in a faux sense of it, and his dick gets a little confused in the process. Arching a bit to reach back and search for that part of himself, he realizes with a start that Christy could walk in at any moment and find him like this. It wouldn’t look great on his part, he’s sure, but it doesn’t really sway him to stop.

He’s already this far, index finger pressed to his hole.

It’s too dry to feel good, he knows, but just the fluttery feeling in his guts inspires him to steal some conditioner and slick himself up just a little bit. Bracing himself with one hand on the wall, he tentatively pushes in this time, his eyes falling shut at the stretch. There’s a barely-there burn, a twist in his stomach when he presses up, and his knees almost give out underneath him.

It doesn’t feel good, exactly, but he’s still exhaling heavily, resting his forehead on his arm while he presses in a little more, feeling the slick, slimy conditioner easing the way.

He was right. It feels weird.

That’s about all it is, really. Just resting inside of him, it doesn’t feel good or bad; it just feels like he has something in his butt. The angle is hard on his shoulder, so he really can’t press up like he wants, can’t do much more than drag his finger out of himself a few times, trying to feel anything at all, but—

It’s just nothing.

Huffing out a breath, he gives up.

The rest of his shower is just as uneventful, and when he gets out, he finds Christy to apologize.

She accepts with a quick kiss and a slap to his ass before he walks out the door.

__

  
“This back and forth between talking to you and talking to my wife is confusing my dick, I think,” Link says over lunch.

It’s just the two of them today, the crew too busy working on their own projects to have time to sit with them and eat. Their office is quiet, and it’s an easy spot to sit on the floor across from each other and pass containers of Thai food back and forth while they decompress for the day.

Rhett snorts indelicately in response, reaching across with a groan to steal a pepper from the container Link’s holding. Chewing slowly, he says, “Which one of us is confusing the little guy?”

A raised eyebrow is all he can muster in a rebuttal at the moment, and Rhett’s just too proud of himself for the joke for Link to ruin his day. So he just barrels on, “Put a finger in my butt in the shower this morning. Didn’t feel like much.”

“It’s better when someone else does it for you,” Rhett tells him. “It’s just like jerkin’ off, man. It’s alright when it’s your own hand, but when it’s someone else’s.” And he raises both of his eyebrows as if to express how much better it is.

Link fondly recalls the first time Rhett got a handjob and how excited he was to call Link and tell him about it. He remembers a lot of stumbling on his part, a lot of shushing and laughing and ‘ _dude, seriously_ ’. Right now, though, all he gets is another eyebrow raise and Rhett stealing more food out of his box.

Link decides to tell him, “I think I insulted Christy this morning, and now she doesn’t want to do it, anyway.”

Rhett, thankfully, swallows the bite in his mouth before looking at Link with a furrowed brow and a, “What?”

“Yeah, I—“ and he scratches at the back of his neck nervously, shrugs his shoulders. “I just handled the situation wrong. Which.”

“Is not a surprise,” Rhett finishes for him, nodding his head. “Well, look.” He pauses, clears his throat, and Link sees a blush form. “Look, I can talk to her if you want.”

Link scrunches up his face, stabs at the food in front of him and shakes his head. “I think that was the problem to begin with. It’ll just make it worse if we keep playing telephone.”

“Suit yourself.”

And he sounds almost put-off. Like Link has just spoiled plans for him, and Link recalls how all of this started. The dots connect at last, and Link feels himself blanch. He goes cold all over, his hands stumbling while he tries to keep eating, seeming nonchalant about it.

But Rhett catches on, sighs audibly and says, “Yeah, see, this is why we kept saying to talk to the other.”

“But why can’t either of you just say the words? I mean, I—“ he pauses, putting the food container down so he can scrub his hands over his face. “I have one conversation with my wife about something private, and next thing I know, she’s planning some weird birthday thing involving my best friend and a strap-on.”

“In her defense, the something private was you jerking off thinking about me,” Rhett argues. “Put yourself in her shoes, man.”

“What is she planning, Rhett?”

“I can’t tell you,” Rhett insists. And he’s really pissing Link off, now. This whole dancing around the subject thing is pissing him off. He tenses up, and Rhett finally says, “Seriously, she didn’t tell me. She asked me about what _I_ like and told me about your weird dream, and that was it.”

“It—It wasn’t a dream,” Link admits. “It was wires getting crossed in my brain.”

“Okay.”

“Look, I’m not about to make stuff weirder than it already is between us.” He feels the tension in his arms, his shoulders. Mentally, he tells himself to schedule a massage soon.

This isn’t something he wanted to talk about. The way it happened, really, was that Christy said something about Rhett while he was waking up. And half-asleep, half-hard from a dream involving a face he can’t exactly place, he’d ended up jerking off in the shower with Rhett’s face dancing across his eyelids. And, in Christy’s defense, the dream _did_ involve Link being on the receiving end of some very serious anal sex. But he’d told her this hoping for a laugh, for a teasing match that would end with her looking up at him prettily, with him getting to fuck her instead, get the taste of Rhett out of his subconscious.

Instead, he’s right here having this conversation with Rhett.

And what Rhett says is, “It’s not weird, man.”

He’s not going for sincere or nonchalant, he just _is_. This isn’t some act, some front that Rhett’s putting on, and Link can tell. His eyes are honest and serious and he’s making eye-contact that sends shivers down Link’s spine.

His mouth stutters around the incredulous, “I jerked off thinking about you, my wife contacted you after a conversation with your wife about how she owns a strap-on, and you don’t think things are weird between us right now?”

There’s a shrug, and Rhett steals more food from Link’s box. “Nope. Things are just getting interesting.”

\--

Link has never been very good at asking questions, if he’s honest. People tend to favor the subject being danced around, but he’s always been the kind of person to be blunt about things. He’s never been one for being subtle. Plus, he spends more of his time with a foot in his mouth than he’d like to admit.

Christy knows this about him, of course, so he’s not sure why she’s staring up at him like he’s grown a second head when he asks, “Are you planning on asking Rhett to fuck me for my birthday?”

A blush darkens her cheeks, and she stutters, “No. I—“ but he cuts her off with a shake of his head.

“Christy,” he starts, and wipes a hand over his face. “It was a _dream_ , baby.”

She wrings her hands in her lap, nods her head gently. “I know it was. I know that, Link.”

“Is this something you want?” This isn’t adding up, isn’t making sense. “With the—the toy you bought and everything?”

But she just shakes her head with a little self-depreciating laugh. And then, “I just thought that, if the subject came up, I wanted to be the first one.”

“What?”

“I’m okay with it, you know? I am. Jessie and I have talked about it. She’s okay with it, too.”

“Christy, I don’t want—“ but. But that would probably be a lie. So it falls short on his tongue. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Why didn’t _you_ talk to _me_?” It’s not an accusation, but an answer, a common ground for the both of them. Link supposes it’s easier to imagine a scenario in which you sit down with your spouse and discuss sleeping with another person than actually making it happen.

He sits down on the edge of the bed with her, grabs her hands and brings them up to his mouth to press a kiss across her knuckles. He says, “We did this a little backwards, didn’t we?”

“A little,” she admits with a soft nod. “But how fitting for us, huh?”

“Do-over?” This feels familiar, something they’ve done their whole relationship. When they mess up, they talk it over, and they try again. A second chance. A mulligan.

She nods her head. There’s a grin on her face when she says, “I didn’t ask him, you know.”

This isn’t news to him, really, not with how Rhett had reacted in the office. Still, he asks, “Did you tell him nothing was happening until you got to first?”

Her nod is met with a shrug of her shoulders. “I thought it was fair. Was I wrong?”

“No,” he tells her. “No, I don’t think so.”

“But I suppose it’s ultimately your choice. I was being selfish.”

 With a smile, he pulls her close to him and slots their mouths together for a wet kiss that leaves her a little breathless. Wiping his thumb over her bottom lip, he tells her, “Let me talk to him now that I’m in the loop at last.”

Sucking in a deep breath, she dismisses him with a, “Go. I’ve got something to take care of, anyway.”

If he knew he wouldn’t be late for work, he wouldn’t have left the bedroom without offering a helping hand.

\--

It’s hard to get a moment alone in a busy office. Especially so when there are scripts and shows and songs being written, papers and cameras all over the place, odds and ends that probably aren’t very common in most offices taking up the rest of the space. Somewhere, there’s a blowtorch going, and on the other side of the building, a few dogs are running around. In the middle of it all, Rhett and Link sit in their office, the door closed against the noise.

And still, even with that barrier, people are walking in and out, disrupting any chance at talking they may get. The hours sort of tick by in Link’s brain, a background noise the whole afternoon as he talks over things of import with Rhett, Skype calling a few people with weight behind their names. He should be paying more attention to the day, but there’s a nervous energy under his skin the whole time, ants that make it hard to focus on anything else.

Instead, he finds himself taking note of the sweat on the back of Rhett’s neck, the careful way he avoids picking his nails unless he’s super nervous, how he wipes his hands on his jeans when he stands to go pee.

The day bulldozes over them, but the office does empty out soon enough. Link finds himself standing amidst the wreckage of it all; and then, he finds himself standing face-to-face with his own wreckage.

Rhett looks at him with tired eyes.

Link doesn’t press, but he does reach out and uncharacteristically lace their fingers together while they stand in the middle of the set, leaning against the desk. It’s just them, the rest of the building humming in a quiet reminder that they’re alone.

His throat is dry from talking all day, but he powers through a quick, “You think we can have everything?”

“I think it’s being handed to us on a silver platter, and we’d be idiots to pass it up. That’s what I think.” There’s a squeeze to his hand, and Link feels his eyes sting, a lump growing in his throat.

“How long?” He’s got to know. He has an answer. He knows Rhett does, too.

“Long time. Maybe forever,” Rhett says. His voice is calm, quiet, but there’s something underneath it that winds itself around Link’s bones, ribbons itself through each one of his ribs and settles there with a weight, a steady reminder.

Link nods his head. It’s all he can do right now. His mouth won’t work around the ‘ _me too, bo_ ’ that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he knows Rhett hears it, anyway.

After a bit of silence, a moment of them standing, staring at each other while Link rubs his thumb over Rhett’s knuckles like he’d done to Christy while they talked, Rhett finally asks, “You talk to Christy this morning?”

There’s a hum that falls out of him before an answer, soft and fond, and he grins when he says, “I did. She told me she wasn’t the one that asked.”

“She wasn’t.” Link can hear Rhett’s smirk, doesn’t have to look up to know it’s there.

“You know, maybe next time you can tell _me_ that you want to roll around with me,” Link teases, grinning wider and looking up at Rhett this time. He’s met with a serious look, Rhett’s eyes meeting his own. Link knows what he’s asking, and he shrugs his shoulders, nods his head.

It’s a blur, really, as Rhett gets his hands on Link’s face, fingers curling around his neck as he pulls him close in a rush, their mouths slotting together gentler than he anticipated. Rhett’s mouth opens under his immediately, and it’s almost too easy to get lost in the rhythm, the feeling of trying to lick inside and pull those soft little noises he’s making out of him. Link’s head spins, and eventually he’s left gasping into the sensation of Rhett’s hands manhandling him where he wants him, his beard brushing against Link’s skin as he presses a hot line of kisses across his jaw.

“Rhett,” he murmurs, his own hands finding Rhett’s wrists, centering him back to where this started. And the sweet taste of the gum Rhett was chewing earlier is almost as sweet as the feeling of those soft lips on his again.

There’s a whine, almost desperate, almost pleading, that tumbles out of Rhett when Link gets his thumbs by Rhett’s mouth, presses there to open him up wider, make it easier to slip his tongue inside. Link’s good at this, knows it, is _proud_ of it, and Rhett opens up beautifully against him. There’s just enough space to get his thumb inside, too, and pull more sounds out of Rhett as Link fills him up that much more.

Maybe they’re getting ahead of themselves, but this kiss was never meant to stop at just a kiss.

It was never meant to be chaste and sweet and simple.

Nothing between them has ever been chaste and sweet and simple.

And now, all these strings they’ve all been wearing on their fingers are meeting in the middle, in a common area instead of being so tangled up like they were before. Link’s not sure how this is going to end, how things are going to spin for him, but he’s happy to accept this for as it is.

He’s happy to slip his thumb back out of Rhett’s mouth, nip at his bottom lip when Rhett groans at the slick feeling of his own saliva being dragged down his skin. Rhett chases him when he pulls back, and Link laughs into the kiss this time.

“Come on, man,” he tells Rhett softly, presses it into his mouth. “I gotta get home eventually.”

“Eventually doesn’t mean now,” Rhett argues. But he steps away, wipes a hand over his mouth in a way he thinks is subtle. Link doesn’t bother. The drive home will be more interesting with the taste of Rhett in his mouth.

“I was told it was my decision,” he tells him. There’s a groan from Rhett, and a blush that Link ignores.

And Rhett shakes his head, says, “You don’t have to choose. Let your wife—“

Link cuts him off with, “Nah, man. Like I said the other day, it’s my ass, ain’t it?”

In response, he gets an eyebrow raise that asks the question: _‘Is it, though?’_

 Rolling his eyes, Link says, “Just. Set up a babysitter, fork out some money for a hotel room or something for us, and send the girls someplace nice. It’s my birthday, after all.”

\--

The conversation with Christy ends up being easier than he thought it might be. She nods and listens and smiles, kisses him square on the mouth when it’s over and tells him she loves him. Fifteen minutes of him reassuring her he loves her too, that wanting this doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want her, because—

Trust him, he wants her, still.

But by the end of it, he feels like he’s buzzing again, like there are fluffy strings of cotton in his blood, sticking to his ribs.

The plans, the ones he’d explicitly told Rhett to arrange, get arranged instead by the girls. Two days away, the kids sent to a good friend’s house, and Rhett and Link get either house they want to themselves.

“Hell, y’all could start in one and finish in the other, for all I care,” Jessie says. “We’re going spend all your money for two days regardless.”

She kisses them both on the cheek before they leave officially, shooting them both a smile over her shoulder as she rolls her suitcase to the car. Christy hangs around for a second, slipping her hand in Link’s back pocket and giving him a squeeze. Loud enough for Rhett to hear, too, she says, “Jessie says he’s pretty big, babe, says you better take it slow. There’s a new bottle of lube in your nightstand, next to my vibrator just in case. Have fun.”

She’s gone too, after that and a quick kiss on his opposite cheek.

Link’s pretty sure Rhett is laughing next to him, but he can’t hear for sure over the sound of his pulse in his head.

After a second, there’s a hand on his shoulder urging him to go back into the house, to turn around and make his way back through the door. It’s a familiar feeling, and Link gives into it after a second.

Inside, he asks, “This is really happening, right? I’m not about to wake up?”

Rhett shrugs his shoulders in his best attempt at nonchalance right now. “I feel pretty awake.”

 Link hums. He feels awake, too. But really, this can’t be real. Everything has moved so quickly, sort of thrown in his lap for his own shaky hands to sort out the pieces, put it all together. Somehow, they’ve all managed to get it in place. Things have been assembled how they need to be, agreements made, and here they are.

This was treated like it’s nothing, right from the get-go, and he’s got no idea how this even happened.

All he knows is that Rhett looks good standing in his living room, bottom lip between his teeth as he watches Link pace. The sun filters in through the blinds, curtaining him in gold, and Link doesn’t hesitate to find his way to him. The contact starts off gentle, Rhett’s arms circling around his middle when he goes in for a hug.

It’s this, really, that stirs up that swell of emotion in him. It’s the closeness, how big Rhett feels against him, the fact that he can smell that slight musky scent Rhett’s always got going on. This is the same boy he’s had by his side all these years, this whole life, and he’s so full of love for him that it only makes sense for it having turned into this to have been treated with such nonchalance. Of course it was easy, agreed upon—every inch of life from the stars above to the magnetic pull of the center of the Earth was aligned for them and them alone.

Or, at least, that’s how it feels sometimes.

And Link’s got a feeling if they grew up in a different time, a different place, they’d have explored this as kids at least a little bit. He doesn’t regret a second of any of it, though. If he steps back, takes a look at the life he’s got going for him, there’s not a single inch of it he’d rewrite.

When Rhett tilts Link’s head up with a finger under his chin and presses their mouths together, prying Link’s lips open with an eager tongue, Link realizes how lucky he is.

After a second—a wet, sloppy, slick-sounding second—Rhett pulls back smiling, and asks Link, “Still with me?”

Eyes slipping shut, Link hums, “Mm. Right here, bo. Ain’t going anywhere.”

He thumps his forehead on Rhett’s shoulder, letting the tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying this whole time ease out of him with a heavy breath. Rhett’s huge hand comes up, fingers scratching through Link’s hair so he can cup the back of his head carefully.

Every single one of these touches feels familiar. Nothing feels new yet, and Link thinks that’s the most startling realization.

The kiss feels new, especially when Rhett’s fingers tug him back and up, pulling a groan out of him as soon as their lips meet again. For a moment it’s almost too much, this feeling. A culmination of the week, the conversations, the realization that perhaps this is what everything was building up to from the beginning—it’s a lot to take in. Link swallows down against the sudden lump in his throat, his hands flying up to grab at Rhett: first his shoulders before they trail up and land on his face, palms cupping his cheeks carefully.

Rhett makes a soft sound, and Link uses the opportunity to pull away, suck in a deep breath before saying, “You wanna--?”

“Upstairs? I think Christy mentioned lube,” Rhett says, a smirk on his face.

Link breathes out a laugh, nods his head before dipping in to press a sweet, chaste kiss to Rhett’s lips before pulling away entirely.

They’re sure to interlock fingers before meandering through the house, up the stairs. Rhett’s not gentle when he pushes Link onto his own bed, laughing when he flails his limbs out to keep from bouncing right onto the floor. And his hands are quick, determined, harsh as they tug at Link’s clothes, his jeans coming off first.

By the time he’s down to his briefs, Rhett’s hands tossing his last sock onto the floor with the rest of his clothes, his brain has caught up with the fact that Rhett hasn’t moved to take off anything of his own.

“You planning on doing this fully-clothed?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at Rhett.

He gets a shrug in response. “Maybe. You look good like this.”

Nothing if not a showman, Link sprawls out a little bit, tilts his hips up carefully, positions himself in a way he feels might be at least a little sexy. In the end, Rhett snorts, shakes his head, and wraps his huge hand around Link’s ankle to tug him closer to the end of the bed.

Like this, he’s off the pillows, back flush to the bed, ribs poking out with every breath. His legs are dangling off the end of the bed, and Rhett steps in between them, hands on the backs of his thighs to push them up as he does. It’s a stretch, and Link can’t help the groan that falls out of him as Rhett keeps pushing until Link’s knees are damn near by his ears.

With a smile, just a breath away from Link’s own, Rhett nods, says, “Not bad.” And then he lets Link’s legs go, allows him to stretch them out again.

An indelicate snort wraps itself around Link’s accusation of, “Dirty old man.”

“Yeah,” Rhett laughs, nodding proudly as he licks his lips. “Yeah, you caught me.”

“Jess do this to you?” Link asks, the question coming out breathier than he meant. The image of Rhett spread out like Link is right now, Jessie’s small frame covering him carefully while she fucks into him with a toy is like a livewire directly to Link’s cock.

Rhett, too, apparently, because he lets out a sound, high and loud, before rocking his hips down against Link. Sucking in a stuttered breath, he asks, “You wanna know what Jess does?”

He doesn’t even think, doesn’t have to before he’s nodding his head jerkily, biting his bottom lip.

Rhett makes another sound, low and careful, before he’s pulling away cruelly, stretching across the bed to strain and reach Link’s bedside table. He opens the drawer, pulls out the lube Christy promised was there. After a second of digging, Link sees him grin, settling back where he was with a purple dildo in his hand.

“Christy was a girl scout,” Link says with a shrug when Rhett raises his eyebrows. Then, “You know you have a real one of those, right?”

“Mine doesn’t vibrate,” Rhett tells him. “Plus, I’m showing you.”

Right. Link had asked, after all. It would only be polite of Rhett to assuage his curiosity. So, Link spreads his legs a little bit more, goes as lax as he can on the bed while Rhett hooks his fingers in Link’s underwear, pulls them down.

He’s only about half-hard, the nerves fluttering in his belly enough to distract him from everything else. Still, Rhett palms at him, making a quiet sound in the back of his throat when Link’s hips jerk up into the contact. It’s already too much, just this, just the promise of more to come mixed with the warmth of Rhett’s hands on him.

To think that he’d only admitted he wanted this to himself a few days ago. To think that his subconscious had only just nudged him in the direction of admitting this to himself a couple weeks ago. He’s been missing this his whole life, the pressure of Rhett’s skin on his own, the steady thrum of energy coming from both of them.

What matters is that they’re here now, no more wasting time. No more dancing around this subject, this feeling anymore.

Rhett seems to be thinking the same thing with how quickly he pulls Link’s brief down his legs the rest of the way, gets Link’s legs up and around him so he can crawl onto the bed, scoot in impossibly close.

“Is it gonna hurt?” he asks, because the question only now surfaces.

Rhett’s hands are soft when they run up the insides of Link’s thighs. His fingers dance along his skin, leaving behind trails of heat that Link arches into. There’s a low sound in Rhett’s chest before he answers, almost like he’s thinking about it, like he’s wanting to ask something else in return.

But he just says, “No, baby. I’m gonna take good care of you. I’ll make you feel real good.”

Pitching his voice a little higher, just for the effect, to assuage the butterflies in his stomach, he asks, “You promise?”

His answer comes with Rhett’s hand wrapping around the base of his cock tentatively. It shocks through him, a groan tumbling out of him as Rhett gets comfortable with the feeling of someone else’s dick in his hand.  

Finally, this feels new.

And Rhett tells him, “I promise,” right as he’s rubbing his thumb under the head, his hand a little too dry for it to feel that great, but still enough to have Link breathing a little harder.

This feels important, but Link can’t find it in him to worry about it. It feels like something he should be worrying about, like they’re throwing something over a cliff they’ve only been staring at for their whole lives.

Rhett’s fingers are wet when he presses one to Link’s hole. There’s no preamble, just the slick feeling of Rhett right there. The hand jerking him off slowly is enough of a distraction for just a second before Link is asking, “Talk to me? Just. Give me something else to focus on before you shove your finger in there.”

“There will be _no_ shoving,” Rhett says with a laugh. “I told you I’d take care of you, man. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” He nods his head, wills himself to relax like he was before. “I do. I trust you.”

After a second, “I can still talk to you, though.” There’s a barely-there touch to his hole again, just enough contact to remind him, keep him present.

Instead of speaking, Link hums in encouragement.

Rhett hand falls away, pats Link on the thigh instead, and maneuvers him until he’s on his stomach. The bed is only so big, and once Link gets on his knees, Rhett right behind him, it feels a lot smaller than it did before. Something about dangling almost all the way off the bed really centered him, made him feel small against the huge expanse of Rhett. Now, though, like this, he feels big, too.

“This is how she likes me,” Rhett says. “Says it’s easier.” He pauses. “And prettier.”

Link breathes out a soft laugh, wondering how in the world looking at him from that angle could be in any way pretty. He feels the bed dip with Rhett right as he feels the scratch of his beard, the soft warmth of his mouth, a line of saliva being left behind as he trails kisses down Link’s spine.

It’s almost liberating, the moment when Rhett presses inside of him with a slick finger. Instantly, Link knows Rhett was right the other day—it _is_ better when someone else does it. Already, something in his guts twists up, his body clenching down around the shock of this feeling different, feeling weird. Where it was nothing but a stretch when he did it himself, this is a thousand little shocks of something tingling down his spine.

And then there’s the quiet mumbling of Rhett telling him, “I’d love to see you come just from this, Link. Just from my fingers inside of you.”

Into the air, his head hanging between his shoulders now, Link breathes out a soft huff, asks, “Jess ever get you off just from fingering you?”

Another hum and, “All the time. I like three, like the stretch of it. But my fingers are so much bigger than hers are.”

Link knows he’s watching, can feel it with how he pulls back, sits on his heels and uses his free hand to hold him open just a little more. He’s hard, hanging thick and heavy between his legs, and he has a feeling that Rhett’s getting off on this, too. This is probably taboo, talking about their wives while they do this, but the words warm through Link, paint vivid pictures of Rhett on his knees for his wife, her fingers buries inside him while she whispers filth in his ears like he’s doing for Link right now.

But just to check, he asks, “Doesn’t bother you, does it? Me asking about her?”

In answer, Rhett makes a small noise, sits up with a rustling sound, and presses the thick line of his cock to Link’s ass. He’s still fully clothed, but it doesn’t matter. Link can feel him right there, just as hard and heavy as he is himself. In the quiet of the room, he breathes out, “Nah. Doesn’t bother me, baby.”

A second finger presses inside, a dull stretch as Rhett eases them past the resistance. It’s much slicker than before, enough lube to be dripping down his balls as Rhett curls them up just a little bit. And there’s something right there, right where he pushes, that jolts through Link in a little flare of heat. It’s gentle, pulling a whine out of him as Rhett asks him, “Think you could take one more?”

He could. He wants to, wants to feel even fuller than he does now. Even right now, he thinks he gets it.

The fingers inside of him curl up again in search of that spot they hit the first time, only now it takes a second. When Rhett finds it again, though, Link cants his hips down against him, hums low in his chest while his mouth falls open and his brow furrows against the feeling.

“Fuck,” he pants, his mouth hanging open while Rhett keeps the pressure right there, easing his fingers out, slipping them back inside. “That’s so good.”

It’s almost a question, disbelief dripping off his tongue at the realization that he gets it now. Behind him, he hears Rhett’s soft laugh, feels him dip down to press his mouth right above where his fingers are, just a small kiss to show he’s listening.

“Yeah?” he asks Link, a tease as he drags his fingers back out of him, leaves just the tips inside. It’s weird feeling empty all of a sudden, wanting to press back and take more. Rhett doesn’t leave him wanting for long, and Link’s shoulders tense as he feels three fingers slipping through the slick mess Rhett’s made of him, pressing back inside carefully. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Link nods. He lets out a strained, “Come on. Do it, come on.”

Three is a lot. It’s almost too much, even with how slow Rhett’s taking it, with how he’s careful and wet, going so far as to drip more lube down onto Link. But being this full, with his fingers twisting up and hitting him just right, Link’s left with his eyes welling just a little, tension creeping into him as he presses back into the feeling, looking for more.

From Rhett, he hears a low murmur of, “Greedy,” and the hand still holding him open obscenely slips down to his hip to hold him in place. “You look so good, bo.”

And the term of endearment floods through him, fills him with warmth, with a twisting in his gut. A moan punches through him, loud and harsh, and Rhett’s low sound matches it.

“Fuck me, Rhett,” Link lets out. “Gosh, just fuck me.”

It’s nearly a beg, a plea, a prayer, and all he gets in return is another kiss, and Rhett’s, “Not yet, baby.”

It pulls a groan from Link, hitching up into a whine on the end as Rhett’s fingers press up again, hitting him just right. The feeling gets more intense every time, rolling through him in waves every time Rhett touches him just right.

A low sound starts from somewhere behind him, a buzzing that starts slow and builds up, and Link instantly knows what it is. His face heats up, a tingling starting in his spine when Rhett says a bit offhandedly, “Goes up pretty high.”

“Yeah,” Link breathes. “Christy—she, uh, she never quite gets up to the highest one.”

“We’ll start you off slow, don’t worry,” Rhett promises, and the buzzing stops. “Do you want me to turn it on before or?”

The question hangs between them for a second, Link weighing the options of feeling it inside him first, getting used to being there before the vibrations start or getting the scary part over with quick, no hesitation, no preamble. In the end, he decides, “Leave it off.”

He arches his back, lets his head hang heavily between his shoulder blades. The sensation of Rhett’s fingers slipping out of him leaves him sucking in a breath, and as he does, Rhett’s already lining the toy up.

It’s smooth. He can feel it, how it’s hard, doesn’t give when he clenches like Rhett’s fingers did.

Rhett’s hand lands on the small of his back, fingers digging in a little in question, and Link nods his head.

When it starts, Link gasps.

It’s low, but he can feel it everywhere—in his hips, his cock, the tips of his fingers. It’s intense, and he finds himself pressing forward, burying his face in the pillow underneath him. The change in angle just makes it worse, and he chokes out a sob.

“Good?” Rhett asks, and Link doesn’t know yet. He doesn’t know anything beyond how _much_ it is. But he nods his head anyway. Rhett makes a sound, and eases it back out of Link.

And gosh—that’s.

That’s a lot too, movement. Moving it spreads the sensation even more, his thighs shaking, his stomach twisting up. When he slides it back in, he angles it up, and it presses right where it feels best. A low groan starts in Link’s throat, ending on a loud, “ _Fuck_ , Rhett.”

“Yeah, baby.” And his hand is back on Link’s ass, holding him open. It should be embarrassing. It should have him feeling shy, knowing he’s being watched like this, but he doesn’t even care right now.

He doesn’t care.  It feels so good, angled up and pressed against what he assumes is his prostate, buzzing away while Rhett mumbles filthy little things behind him. All Link can make out is snippets of words, praise and promises that he’s going to take care of him, that Rhett can’t wait to watch him fall apart.

Link already feels like he’s falling apart, shaking into tiny pieces while the toy buzzes away inside of him.

There’s a thought, a beat, and he can’t help but let out the shaky request of, “More.”

It’s higher in a second, a garbled sound falling out of him, his body pressing backwards into the feeling. It’s so much. It’s too much, and he thinks that if he moves in the slightest, he’s going to break apart.

But Rhett’s right there, right behind him, and he’s not worried. He’s not going to let anything happen; he’s going to take care of him. He promised.

So Link tilts his hips, gets that feeling right back where he wants it, and sobs out, “Rhett. Gosh—I. _Fuck_!” He sucks in a deep breath. “Please. Fuck me. Rhett—please.”

It all comes out of him in a rush, in a frantic plea for _him_ , for Rhett, not for this toy that’s so good he’s almost numb around it.

“Alright, bo,” Rhett says, and Link just barely feels him slipping the toy out.

There’s rustling that Link knows is Rhett stripping off his clothes, tossing them over the side of the bed in a rush.

 Big, sweaty hands land on his hips, manhandle his trembling body until he’s on his back again, looking up at Rhett’s red face, his blown-out eyes. Link’s quick to get his hands on him anywhere he can, landing on his arms first. He digs his fingers in when Rhett’s hands push his legs apart, one on the back of his thigh while the other guides the head of his cock to Link’s hole. “Shit, Link. You look so good, baby.”

“Just—“

And Rhett’s smiling down at him, nodding his head, pressing inside all at once. This is better. Feeling him is better than the toy, than the vibrations that he felt everywhere.

He feels Rhett everywhere, too.

Not only in the stretch, but in the press of his hands to Link’s body, in the closeness of their hips when he bottoms out, in the shaky breath he lets out. He feels him in the swell of emotion in his chest, his throat, his eyes. This is better.

Rhett wastes no time in draping himself over Link, searching for that contact, that closeness that Link himself craves. They’re as close as they can possibly be like this, but still, he wants more. He wants to stay like this forever, stretched around Rhett’s cock, mouthing at the sweat on his neck.

Link’s not going to last long like this. He still feels the phantom vibrations of the toy through him, and when Rhett sits back up, gets on his knees so he can spread Link wider, watch his own cock fuck into Link, he knows Rhett’s not going to last long, either.

“Gosh,” Rhett lets out, strained and low, when his hips rock back into Link.

All it takes is a second, a blur of Rhett getting his hand on the toy again, turning the vibration up a little bit higher, and pressing it to the base of Link’s cock. Higher, more intense, he’s arching against Rhett, letting out a loud, choked moan that rattles through him, and he comes just like that.

He feels full, feels like every nerve in his body is on fire, is hardwired to his cock. For a second, all he can focus on is the rush of pleasure, the toy still pressed to him while his cock twitches at the sensation. He jerks under the overstimulation, under Rhett still rocking into him, the vibrator still pressed to his cock.

Now it’s definitely too much, too fast, and he can’t help but push Rhett’s hand away, go limp when the toy falls to the bed and he’s left just with the feeling of Rhett’s cock inside him.

He hears a quiet, breathy laugh and a, “Look at you all fucked out, Link Neal.”

Link can’t manage anything other than flopping an arm over his eyes and a weak chuckle while Rhett pounds into him. It’s still a lot, just this, but he almost likes how it’s too much.

He says, “’S your fault, bo. You got me all full of your cock, what’d you expect was gonna happen?”

And when Rhett lets out a rush of, “Fuck, Link,” he can’t help the grin, his arm falling from where he’s covering his eyes so he can watch Rhett. His brow furrows, his shoulders going tense, and he gets his hands on Link’s thighs so he can dig his fingers in, leave a few bruises behind.

Link thinks he looks good like this, eyes wide, hair all over the place, sweat dripping down his temples. And when he comes, his mouth falling open around a whine, a whimper, Link thinks he looks even better.

He’s still a spool of golden thread, unwound and unkempt, but this time he’s framed by Link.

When Rhett pulls out gently, he collapses onto the bed next to Link, taking up the rest of the room and making Link roll onto his side to give him space. Rhett winds his arm around Link’s middle, pulls him close so he can press his mouth to the back of his neck.

That’s how Link falls asleep, covered in come and sweat and lube, held together by Rhett.

\--

The girls end up coming home a little earlier than they thought.

Link’s not shy, which is a good thing. Rhett really isn’t either, if the way he smiles, swoops down for a wet kiss, and fucks into Link a little bit harder says anything.

From the doorway, through his own loud sound, he hears Christy whistle and say, “Me next.”

They sit down that night, have a few drinks, and talk about where to go from here.

Again, from over the rim of her glass, Christy reiterates, “I already said I was next, y’all.”

And Link thinks they might be the luckiest people in the world.


End file.
